Ahmad Sameer
As we made our way towards Chatpal via Achabal—surrounded by the quiet majesty of mountains and the promise of untouched beauty—an unusual set of questions occupied our minds. Alongside my friend, I found myself wondering: Are we carrying a DSLR camera? Do we look good today? Is our attire appropriate? Are there selfie spots to capture the moment?
It soon became evident that our journey was less about exploration and more about presentation. We were not preparing to experience nature, but to perform within it. The mountains had become a backdrop, not a destination.
This subtle shift reflects a larger transformation of our times—where the urge for beautification increasingly overshadows the desire for authentic engagement.
At the heart of this transformation lies the phenomenon of body shaming—a social and psychological process through which individuals feel inadequate or dissatisfied with their natural appearance due to externally imposed standards of beauty. It is not merely about ridicule; it is about internalizing a sense of incompleteness. One begins to see oneself not as they are, but as they fail to measure up to constructed ideals.
This trend is driven by multiple forces. Celebrity culture normalizes unattainable perfection, often aided by cosmetic enhancements. Social media amplifies curated images, creating a distorted sense of reality. The rise of parasocial relationships deepens this crisis—individuals begin to identify with influencers they have never met, mimicking their lifestyles and appearances.
Empirical data reinforces this concern. Surveys across global institutions suggest that nearly 70 percent of young women express dissatisfaction with their bodies. Reports like the Dove Global Beauty and Confidence study consistently highlight widespread appearance-related anxiety, while studies in Indian colleges reflect similar insecurities among youth. Meanwhile, the global cosmetic surgery industry continues to expand rapidly—clear evidence that insecurity is no longer just psychological, but also highly profitable.
The consequences are both profound and multidimensional. At an individual level, people develop a persistent sense of inadequacy, constantly comparing themselves to unrealistic standards. At a societal level, the natural diversity of human appearance is replaced by a homogenized ideal.
More critically, there is a diversion of valuable resources—time, money, and emotional energy—towards cosmetic pursuits that offer little substantive return. Individuals increasingly invest in treatments, surgeries, and products, often at the cost of education, skill development, or financial stability. What could have been channeled into empowering avenues is instead absorbed by industries that thrive on perpetuating dissatisfaction.
The rise of cosmetic interventions also brings under-discussed risks. Medical complications—ranging from infections to long-term physiological damage—are not uncommon. Psychological dependency is another serious concern, where individuals enter a cycle of repeated procedures, never fully satisfied. Over time, what begins as a personal choice quietly transforms into a social compulsion.
In the Kashmiri context, this phenomenon is taking on a particularly troubling dimension. The marriage market increasingly reflects shallow parameters, where physical appearance often outweighs character, intellect, or compatibility. I recall a relative rejecting a potential match solely on the basis of facial appearance—reducing a deeply human relationship to a superficial criterion. Such instances are no longer exceptions; they are becoming a pattern.
This obsession is visible in everyday life as well. A simple visit to a barber shop now often involves long waiting hours—not merely due to crowd, but because younger generations invest excessive time in styling and cosmetic detailing. What was once routine has turned into ritual. Grooming is no longer maintenance; it is performance.
Fairness creams, grooming products, and beauty treatments have gained immense popularity, subtly reinforcing the idea that lighter skin and refined features are superior. This reflects an internalized hierarchy of beauty, shaped by colonial legacies and amplified by global media narratives. Advertising continues to reproduce these standards, embedding them into everyday aspirations.
Ultimately, this is not just a cultural shift—it is a form of psychological conditioning. The desire to become “better” often translates into a desire to become “whiter,” echoing a colonial mindset that devalues native identity.
History offers enough warnings about where such hierarchies can lead. Thinkers like Frantz Fanon argued that colonization does not end with political independence; it persists in the mind, shaping perceptions of self-worth, identity, and beauty. The crisis we face today is therefore not merely aesthetic—it is deeply psychological and political.
Real beauty does not lie in conformity to manufactured standards but in authenticity. It is not something to be constructed for display, but something to be realized within.
Until we reclaim this understanding, we will continue to visit mountains—without ever truly arriving.
